------------------------------------------------

She should've known better than to nod and smile when her new neighbour's friends came by to inform her on their housewarming party that may cause a little hullabaloo. She'd never seen her new neighbour herself, but Mrs. Bukowski had said he was a very charming person.

Moira should have known better than to say, "That's okay, have fun!"

Because now at 4am she was still wide awake. All thanks to their "small get-together". It was college all over again, when she was excluded from all the popular kids' parties and had to listen to them having fun while she was trying to fall asleep. This time was another story, however, because she didn't want to go to the party in the first place.

She just wanted to sleep.

She was nearly four and a half months along, and time appeared to fly. It seemed like only yesterday that Dr. Patel happily told her she was expecting. And now here she was. Her belly wasn't as prominent as she had expected, but she liked it small and cute. Things were going according to plan and she couldn't feel more content. Beside the occasional stomach aches and toilet trips every 30 minutes, she had no complaints.

Until a few days ago, anyway, when her sleeping schedule started resembling one of an insomniac. She was exhausted during the day, and as hyper as a child in kindergarten at night. Not very practical, but since she'd gone with early maternity leave two weeks ago, she could powernap whenever she felt like it. All in all, not –or barely– sleeping at night wasn't so bad. That's until her new neighbour threw a spanner in the works and kept her awake with their screaming, shouting and jumping.

It all began at around 9pm, when she could hear their music. Which was annoying, but not the end of the world. She taken it as an excuse to soak in a warm lavender bath for an hour. After that, she moistened her skin with rose oil and got dressed in some silky pyjamas that had cost her a fortune. Then made herself some hot chocolate with mini marshmallows and sat on the couch watching 'Alaska: The Last Frontier'. When it finished and there was nothing else of interest on TV, it was nearing 1am. So she made her way to her bedroom and crawled under the thick duvet, tucking herself in like a human burrito –to try and fall asleep.

The keyword being 'try', because obviously, she failed miserably.

Her ankles were swollen from all the walking she'd done that day, and literally everything was aching. All she wanted to do was sleep and rest a little.

Was that really too much to ask?

Yes, apparently it was.

It didn't help that her mind was full of the toothpaste commercial guy, either. She'd met him earlier that day while grocery shopping and it would be an understatement if she said he was attractive.

Moira hated to admit it, even to herself, but he was without a doubt the most attractive man she'd ever met. A face sculptured in heaven and a voice composed by angels –deep and husky yet smooth like silk. Atop his head, was a mob of chocolate-brown, restless curls that looked like he ran his fingers through the strands every five seconds, his ears were pierced and a jagged scars ran just above his left brow. His most prominent and startling feature, however, were his eyes; emerald green irises, framed by long lashes.

Do you ever meet someone and feel like you've met them before? In another life perhaps? Or in a club while drunk and you simply can't re That's what Moira felt like when meeting the man, Harraël. And honestly, it scared her to death.

When she realised he was the guy from the toothpaste commercial, she knew that was why he had seemed so familiar. Who could blame her though, the cursed commercial was aired at least five times a day. The real question was; who didn't recognize him? With the recognizable curly hair and

When the clock passed 5am, she'd had enough. This wasn't a housewarming party, it was a darned riot!

Hopping out of bed, she threw on a terry bathrobe and slid her feet into a pair of fluffy white slippers. If she had to drag herself from her soft and comfortable burrow, she'd do it in style.

She wanted to sleep, yes, but she also didn't want to seem like the complaining neighbour who ruined everything. Therefore, she stepped outside her apartment and walked down the hall to the front door of Mrs. Bukowski, her other –and less noisy– neighbour.

But when she was about to ring her doorbell, she hesitated.

What if Mrs. Bukowski did succeed in sleeping? What if she didn't mind the noise as much as she did?

Moira retreated her hand.

Possibly waking her 66-year-old neighbour at 5am wasn't such a clever idea, she reckoned.

Instead, she made her way up the stairs to the penthouse. The moment she ascended the first few steps, she regretted her decision. Her ankles were aching like hell.

This guy better take her complaints seriously, she thought to herself as she rang the doorbell several times, or else she'd call the cops.

A gum-chewing girl, opened the door. She was in an outfit that was practically just skin and had her face caked with cheap makeup. She inspected Moira from her fluffy slippers to her messy bed head and shook her head disapprovingly.

A challenging glint appeared in Moira's eyes, "Hi sweetie, do your parents know you're out so late?"

Almost immediately, the door was shut in her face and she figured keeping her mouth shut would've been a better option.

She rang the bell again –more persistent now– and in no time, it swung open once again. This time revealing a guy more of her age, he was dressed like... well.. a rock star? Surprisingly enough, it didn't look all that bad on him. Rather stylish actually.

He –too– looked her up and down, though he just chuckled and opened his mouth to speak. But Moira was faster.

"Do you live here?"

"No."

"Then I wish to speak to the resident."

The guy chuckled again, and Moira noticed that the high pitched sound of it hit a certain nerve, irritating her to the fullest. And the fact she was tired didn't help the case much either.

"Don't be so bitter."

"I'm not bitter!" Moira spit bitterly, with a bitter expression. "I'm pregnant!"

That was the handy thing about being pregnant: you could use it as an excuse for everything, and in return, people would be apologetic and sympathetic. It worked every time.

The guy's eyes moved from her face, to her bulging baby bump and his mouth dropped. And as she already expected, he apologized and told her he'd fetch the resident for her and be right back. Leaving the door open, Moira took her chance to peek inside and boy, did it astonish her.

No wonder they made so much noise, there were hundreds of people inside. Bottles and red cups everywhere and something else that looked like birthday decorations?

Her view into the apartment was suddenly blocked by a new person, and when she looked up at the person's face, she exploded.

"You!?"